The Night’s Revel

The heels had been left
in the middle of the hallway
some time before dawn,
when I found them
coming back
from the ashes of the reception.
The hotel was mostly deserted
and the hall had lost
its residents
to all the night’s revel.

My evening had been magical
but ended with disappointment.
I wondered how the night had seemed
to the owner of the lonely shoes.
Had she removed them
to better dance the night away
or in need of a speedier flight
from too ardent a suitor?
Had she traded them
for less glamorous flats
as, upon midnight’s fall,
she transformed from a duchess
into a duckling?

All this imagination
invested into these empty vessels,
simply sitting beside the staircase
away from the elevator
in the epicenter of hall.
I wonder how much
those four inch heels
would have occupied me
had my night gone better,
were I not leaving the late-night after-party alone,
if I was awaiting the elevator’s arrival
with any kind of company.

I sighed.
The shoes were placid
and silent
as they rested,
their story untold,
while my story
was merely uninteresting.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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